Reverence

“Whenever you visit a new church, sit behind the old ladies and watch what they do.” 

This was the best advice I received when I was church hunting. The established members of the congregation know the patterns of the service. They pick up the hymnals, Bibles, and prayer books, know when to stand, kneel, or sit; they understand how the service goes. In some places, their hospitality can make or break visitors’ feelings about being new. However, this article is not about hospitality, so let me return to my point. 

The first time I visited an Episcopal church, I was out of my normal experience. I did not know when to cross myself, and I had no clue why people bowed before receiving the Eucharist. I followed the lead of the old ladies to immerse myself in the motions of an Episcopal service. I asked questions a lot later, questions that my oldest son is now asking me.

Why do we bowor curtsy to the cross and during other moments of the Eucharistic Prayer? Why do we cross our heads, lips, and hearts before reading the Gospel? Why do we strip the altar for Good Friday?

The one-word answer to these questions is: reverence.

Reverence has a Latin root that means “stand in awe of” and, as a verb, means “to regard or treat with deep respect.” As an American, the most ingrained example of this is the flag, the Pledge of Allegiance, and the national anthem. Hands on hearts, standing as able, hats removed from heads. The motions of our bodies convey deep respect for our citizenship. 

In a variety of church traditions, standing while reading the Gospel is a standard practice. Eyes closed and heads bowed during prayer are also meant to convey reverence toward God, but raised hands during song can mean the same thing. Humans are not robots; our body language and facial expressions convey emotion and attitude. So, reverential behavior says something about who we understand God to be. God is more than a flag or a song. God is the one who created us and the world around us. God is the one who loves us, who came to undo the systems of oppression that men made, and give us eternal life. The scope of these things is beyond our limited comprehension. So with the fraction of our understanding, awe is a natural response. 

It is easy to become accustomed to awe. I live in a place that receives thousands of visitors each year. They come to see the glacier-fed crystalline lakes and rugged mountain peaks I see daily. The vast open skies, the tangerine sunrises, and rosy sunsets make the mountains seem as if they are glowing from within, which is my normal view. I can forget how marvelous it is as I rush about, taxiing children to their activities, picking up groceries, and living my daily life.

Then something will happen, often prompted by seeing through someone else’s eyes, that will remind me to feel the awe of the place I live. I will feel in my body a desire to respond, perhaps with stillness, lifted hands, or my voice. 

Similarly, I find the motions of reverence used in the church service a way that my body reminds my heart and mind to be in awe of God. Bowing is not a part of my life anywhere else, so that physical motion causes me to think about the significance of showing reverence to God. I do not kneel to any human ruler, so to pause and kneel before the Eucharist calls to mind the humility of Jesus becoming human. Reverence can be habitual, but that does not make it less valuable as a practice. Being reverent requires us to be intentional and thoughtful about our work and worship.

My son had a follow-up question to this elaborate explanation of reverence: Why do we repeat things week after week, year after year? My answer to that is equally straightforward: because we forget. Sometimes my children will complain that they did not receive enough reminders to complete their chores, preparation for the day, or whatever. I often throw my hands up in despair because I have reminded them so—many—times. I wonder if God feels a similar exasperation with my tendency to forget. I need to be reminded, regularly, to be in awe of the beautiful place where I live, I need to be reminded that others are struggling in ways I could never comprehend, and I need to remember year in and year out that Jesus came as a human, that he died and rose again. 

The refrain of an older hymn by Jenny Evelyn Hussey captures the need for remembering this way:

Lest I forget Gethsemane,
Lest I forget Thine agony,
Lest I forget Thy love for me
Lead me to Calvary.

The reason for reverence is twofold: first, because God is worthy at all times to be praised, and second, because if left undone, I will forget that God is worthy.